Thong throng

No motel would have them, so the Chippendales boys landed at the Elks Lodge May 12, where the g-strings and pulsing disco ball formed a surreal contrast against the stage-side elk heads. There the dancers gyrated for bills, sold chocolate penises and demonstrated how shirts and muscles could best be ripped.

The show opened with a bawdy performance by the rap group Level Ground, which foreshadowed the show’s biggest problem: The lack of a raised stage meant horny gals had to stand on chairs to get an eyeful. The screaming audience of about 140 seemed evenly divided between moonlighting mommies and college babes.

There were a few rules ("This is not a casino, so no yankin’ on the one-armed bandit") as the men cruised the aisles between acts. Willing women were pulled on stage and tied to chairs as men danced around them and simulated oral sex.

A “stockbroker” rode his tie, and construction workers set down their mallets and washed themselves with sponges. During a number with “pilots” marching along to “I Believe I Can Fly,” someone slid the lodge’s American flag to center stage. When the boys stripped to their red, white and blue underwear, the women saluted.

One exasperated fan yelled, “Oh, just take it all off.” But Chippendales don’t do that. “You girls can go get dick at any bar,” said the announcer. “We bring you romance, class and true love.”

Other than the lip syncing, it was all real—real hot. As always (I hate myself for it), I preferred the frat-boy-looking guy, Kyle Hunter of Phoenix, Ariz.

We met Kyle and his colleague, Cameron Warfeld (my companion’s favorite), after the show. “It doesn’t matter if there’s five girls or 500,” Hunter said. “I get to have a lot of fun and make people happy.”

Rotary meetings will never be the same.